


Honor and Pride: Two Sides of the Same Coin

by WondrousWendy



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Battle Royale - Freeform, Blood and Injury, Bloodhound Headcanons (Apex Legends), Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Other, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WondrousWendy/pseuds/WondrousWendy
Summary: The Apex Games affect everyone in different ways. For Bloodhound, they are an enjoyable challenge, with honor and pride at stake.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	Honor and Pride: Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Author's Note:**

> This piece involves some of my own personal headcanons about how the Apex Games are run. Essentially, the games are similar to the battle royale Hunger Games or a galactic esport, except death is painful but temporary in the arena. I wanted to explore some of the "behind the scenes" post a season.

Bloodhound has never felt this way. Their axe feels lighter than ever at their hip, the Devotion in their grip feels like an extension of themselves, and the wind rustling through their armor feels refreshing. Briefly, they turn their attention to the down-but-not-out Caustic, whose gas mask is cracked. The beaming sunlight of Olympus reflects off of the dark, inky black pools of their own mask, and with careful strides, Bloodhound advances upon the scientist. Caustic tries as he can to shirk back, to scramble away from the predator before him. 

“Do not toy with me Hound. Just finish it.”

For a moment, Caustic’s harsh, raspy voice brings clarity to the violent haze that has washed over Bloodhound. They stare down into the murky green eyes of the man who has been a thorn in their side since they began ascending the hill to the chokepoint space between the two void tunnels. Dying in the Apex Games may not be permanent, but it still feels quite real, quite painful. Caustic has sent many competitors to their temporary demise slowly and mercilessly countless times. Death by poisonous mustard gas has been especially horrible for them: a reminder of battles long past and a plight that they deal with every day.

Blood demands blood. Bloodhound towers over Caustic, and a low snarl rings out through their respirator. For a split moment that Bloodhound knows will be caught on camera, Caustic’s eyes fill with unabashed fear—realizing at last that this will be anything but a clean kill.

Quickly and with precision, Bloodhound kneels down and takes their axe in hand. They slice through Caustic’s stomach—a gruesome scene to behold, but it is what the games are for. This is what the audience lives for. Blood sprays across their leather armor and against the lenses of their mask.

“Bloodhound is the new Kill Leader!”

The announcer’s voice seems so far off. All Bloodhound can hear is the sound of their deep breathing and their pulse thudding in their ears. They effortlessly wipe their axe on the cloth of Caustic’s trousers and then stand once more. Caustic lays back, accepting his fate with a cruel smirk. This is how the games are; a cycle of endless violence. Sometimes you are the victor, sometimes you are the one who falls. 

“Oh shit!”

With blood still dripping down their axe, Bloodhound tilts their head sharply and sees the final combatant in the arena running in the opposite direction toward the new, soon to be shrinking circle. The figure begins as one, but a moment later, five figures appear out of them in a circle, running in various directions as if in a panic.

Mirage. That’s the final competitor.

Bloodhound wastes no time. All they see through the lenses of their helmet is the world in shades of grey and several red figures running madly. They hack at some, shoot at others, and with each cheerful exclamation of “bamboozled,” Bloodhound grows more and more incensed by the trickster’s games. The tracks in the bright green grass are numerous, and because Mirage is skilled at what he himself does, Bloodhound knows to slice through each one, lest they be caught off guard.

An hour passes as they cut down each decoy. Eventually, they arrive at the rim of the circle, and the roaring in their head feels near unbearable. Blood demands blood, and the beast inside of Bloodhound will suffer no less. Mirage has evaded them for long enough. For two weeks, all of the squads have suffered, struggled, and fought and died. Bloodhound lost their teammates during this competition: Lifeline two days ago and the Revenant simulacrum over an hour ago. Participation in the Apex Games is not for the faint-hearted. The games are not just bloodbaths; the audience cares as much for narratives to follow and dramatic stunts as they do for death.

There is honor in this challenge, chasing the trickster around the area near the Orbital Cannon. Yet, pride will be in the victory.

Bloodhound finds Mirage nestled cleverly between two crates, sitting with his Hemlok drawn, pointed forward defensively. Even as Bloodhound steps in front of them, Mirage does not shoot first to their surprise.

“Took you long enough to track me. Was wondering if you gave up.”

Once again, the voice of another competitor slices through the red fog of war in Bloodhound’s mind. Clarity washes over them. They gaze down at Mirage and find his leg terribly wounded, likely with a festering infection. Earlier in the fight, Bloodhound saw Revenant swipe at Mirage, and everyone who competes knows that Revenant’s claws are coated in poison. It’s astounding to see how long Mirage has made it without collapsing.

“You posed a good challenge, even if I grew rather incensed with each decoy’s final gasped comment.”

“Still working on tweaking the voice coding in each one. Still too robotic sounding, you know? Gotta make it sound like the real deal.”

Mirage sounds tired, as if he’s already defeated. Likely on his last few breaths, so to speak. The gun rattles in his hand, shaking violently until it drops into his lap with a soft thud—caused by the inhalation of nerve gas. Caustic can’t control who can and cannot breathe his poisons, and Mirage does not wear headgear, even though he should when fighting alongside the chemist.

“So, I guess I was hoping we could duke it out fantastically, you know, fists to fists, really give somethin’ for the highlight reels, but,” Mirage’s voice cracks, “I-I actually can’t stand anymore...”

Bloodhound nods slowly. Mirage has been through much. He was the kill leader with a full squad up until these final moments when Bloodhound and Revenant came and third-partied the recent fight.

“You fought well, Mirage,” they say sincerely.

Mirage shrugs. “Yeah, well, you don’t get a trophy for coming in second.”

Bloodhound laughs. “There is honor in a good challenge.”

“But there’s pride in the victory.” Mirage smiles, even though it appears to hurt him. “Yeah, yeah. I watch the interview vods, shoot me.”

No one would ever be able to know because of their helmet, but Bloodhound smiles beneath their mask. They can already imagine the headlines that will come out of this season’s battle, for all eyes are on them in these final moments.

“Even I can admit you’ve earned this victory, Hound. Fair and square. Congratulations.” Mirage closes his eyes briefly, wincing in pain, and when he reopens them, he gives Bloodhound a wink and a faltering smirk. “Well go on then,” he gestures dramatically, “take me out. Hell, I’ll buy the drinks.”

For a moment, Bloodhound’s disarmed by the comments. Even as death washes over Mirage, he can still be as flirtatious as ever. Coy as much as he is cunning.

Bloodhound kneels down, and they pull out their ceremonial knife from their pocket, a gift from the late Arturr.

They lean close so only Mirage can hear. “Determined as usual. Perhaps it is time I take you up on your offer Elliott.”

The blade slices cleanly through Mirage’s throat, and even as he bleeds out, there’s still a grin on his handsome face. With one final kill, Bloodhound is named the Apex Champion. Only mere seconds pass before the hovering camera drones appear, and the flashing lights reflect off of their helm.

Everything passes in a blur from that moment. They are whisked away from Olympus with a drop ship, and time seems to blink by. They return to the headquarters for the Apex Legends, millions of miles away from where the previous season took place, and as is typical for the aftermath of these games, all of those that Bloodhound slew in the fight keep their distance. It’s understandable, really, why they would: death and defeat are still fresh in their minds. 

Yet, Bloodhound hoped differently with regards to Mirage, Elliott Witt. The final moments of the season were so unlike any Bloodhound had partaken in before. Bloodhound and Mirage had fought countless times before against one another, and yet never on the same team. No battle has been alike between Bloodhound and Mirage, with every fight different because of advances in Mirage’s decoy technology. They had never been the last two competitors before, and Mirage had never flirted with them before, at least not so brazenly. The final moments left Bloodhound winded, surprised by the trickster’s actions. 

They would never admit it aloud, but they hoped that Mirage would follow up on their offer for a date. Could they even call it that? Even wondering about the implications behind Mirage’s final words in the arena seemed ridiculous. They decide to put it from their mind. 

In the days that follow the end of the Apex season, Bloodhound finds themselves partaking in interview after interview with different news organizations, answering question after question about the sport of the games, watching highlights of themselves on vid-screens showing the intimate details of each person they had slain throughout the season on Olympus. 

Every interviewer seems far too keen on asking Bloodhound about their interaction with Mirage. 

“Can you answer a question that’s been on the minds of everyone watching the Apex Games the last few seasons: is there something going on between you and Elliott Witt?” 

...And every variation thereof. It almost becomes obnoxious, unexpected every single time to the point in which Bloodhound begins to believe that perhaps this is all a big prank played by Mirage. A last laugh meant to torment them, because around the Apex campus, Mirage is nowhere to be seen. 

“So is Elliott the only person who has seen what hides underneath your iconic helmet, Bloodhound?” 

That’s the final straw. Bloodhound gets up from the interview and leaves the question and the stage behind, reputation be damned. They never considered it before, but advice Loba gave months ago at the end of the previous season starts to ring true: _Get an agent, Hound. Before you find yourself needing one._

Perhaps it isn’t an agent they need, but answers. They leave the interview and head to the one place where they know they will find Mirage: at his bar. 

Thankfully, the venue isn’t busy, with only two daytime patrons lounging in two different booths nursing drinks and small meals. Bloodhound didn’t want to cause a scene, but they have reached the end of their patience with this matter. 

They find Mirage at the bar, back turned from the entryway, with three other hologram decoys helping around the bar. He turns when he hears the door open, and he greets Bloodhound with a wide smile and a wave of his hand. Each of the decoys follow suit, each equally cheerful and genuinely happy to see them. 

“Hey Bloodhound! You finally showed up! Took you long enough.” 

Once again, Bloodhound finds themselves disarmed by the kind greeting. They slowly walk up to the counter, dressed casually after changing after the interview-gone-awry. For all of the interviews, they do not wear their usual helmet, instead choosing to wear goggles and a lower face mask to obscure their identity. They sit down atop one of the plush velvet barstools and Artur comes to rest besides their folded hands on the counter. 

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” they say quietly.

“I was wondering when you were going to take me up on my offer. Don’t you remember? In the ring? My leg was blown to hell and I couldn’t walk. Most terrified I’ve been in awhile, not gonna lie. Thought you were just going to gut me and take the ‘v’ but you were a real pal, Bloodhound.” 

Bloodhound pinches their brows. “I remember, Elliott. I was beginning to think that was a joke or some kind of publicity stunt; haven’t you been watching the interviews? Everyone seems to believe it was a prank.” 

“What?! No! Hell no. I’d never prank you like that! That’s the kind of shit Caustic might pull but not me.” Elliott blushes and frowns. He lowers the glass and towel in his hands, placing them on the counter. He runs a hand over his face, scratches his beard and his shoulders sag. “I mean, uh, I-I’m really sorry. You really thought I was joking? I was serious...” 

Bloodhound watches them carefully, tilting their head. Each of the Mirage decoys mimic the movements of Elliott, and the sight is… curious, to say the least. 

Mirage shakes his head. “I should’ve been way more specific. I was inviting you to the bar, y’know? _My_ bar. I was asking you on a date. I mean, I wasn’t trying to overstep, so I’m really sorry if I offended you, uh…” 

Bloodhound’s eyes widen beneath their goggles. Warmth spreads across their cheeks. 

“...but I figured you were interested since you said you’d think about taking me up on the offer, but it’s been a few days since the end of the season and I’d been catching every interview I could, and I guess I figured with the way you’d been responding to all the questions—and by answer I mean not answering—I assumed you really weren’t interested after all…”

Bloodhound can’t help but chuckle to themselves. The sight alone of seeing Elliott debate and talk with three other versions of himself is priceless to say the least. Mirage is known for being self-centered, but this is something else. He’s so wrapped up in apologizing over this social faux-pas that he doesn’t realize Bloodhound’s removing their cloth mask from their face. 

“...And yeah, so my mother always told me and my brothers that it’s important for us to put ourselves out there but if someone says no you know the proper thing to do is back off and maybe you can stay friends with them. So if you’d rather us just stay friends—or maybe even just coworkers? Is that what we are? I guess so—then I’m more than happy to stay that way. Though I guess I should say I’ve been feeling this way for a little while, pining for you real hard, and Ajay suggested I stop beating around the bush and just—uh Hound? Bloodhound. Your mask. It’s uh, shit. It fell off.” 

Elliott, gentleman that he is sometimes, both closes and covers his eyes. All of the decoys follow suit.

“Lemme know when it’s back on.” 

Sweet of him, admirable even, but unnecessary. This is Bloodhound’s choice. 

Bloodhound reaches across the counter and yanks Elliott forward by his shirt for an unexpected kiss. Elliott gasps, momentarily caught by surprise, but as the seconds quickly tick by, he relaxes and smiles into it. 

“Wow,” Elliott whispers when they pull away. He blinks, stares dreamily into Bloodhound’s goggles, and slowly grins. “Just like in my dreams.” Then the grin falls and his eyes widen in horror. “Uh! I mean… you know, uh, just like in my uh…” 

“You’re fine, Elliott. Relax.” 

Elliott exhales deeply in relief and laughs nervously. He looks over at Bloodhound, completely awe-stricken. He seems to understand the significance of the trust Bloodhound is placing in him. 

“You’re really someone special, Bloodhound,” Elliott says, taking their hands into his own. “It means a lot to me that you’d do this with me. I know those interviewers made you kinda nervous when the whole ‘helmet’ and ‘identity’ stuff came up. Do what’s comfortable for you. No pressure here. None whatsoever.”

“You are quite kind.” They offer Elliott a half-smile. “I admit, this is… New to me. Welcome, however.”

“Well, hey,” Elliott squeezes their joined hands as his voice lowers to a tone that Bloodhound hasn’t heard him use before. The three decoys blink out of existence and then reappear around Bloodhound: one behind them and two on either side, leaning against the counter. Each of the decoys lean close, and they seem to each echo what Elliott himself says: “There’s a first time for everything, right?” 

They turn away from Mirage to hide the blooming color on their tanned cheeks. They look to Artur and carefully stroke the top of the raven’s head with the back of their gloved fingers. 

“I believe you said you would buy me a drink. Both of us will have a glass of water, and then I would like for us to talk.” They glance back to Elliott. “You and I have much to discuss regarding these ‘dreams’ of yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you enjoy this work, please leave a comment and let me know what you think! 
> 
> You can find me on twitter [@W0ndrousWendy](https://twitter.com/W0ndrousWendy)


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